Chapter Four

Aboard The Canadian

Gillian Foster had been right. As usual.

There he was. Cal Lightman, standing in the corridor next to the young man from VIA Rail who'd knocked on her door earlier. Him and another man. One who Gillian assumed was a doctor.

"Oh, it's okay," the man from VIA Rail told her when he saw her. This time she caught the name on the nametag he wore. Brandon. "I found a real doctor...not just one but two!" He pointed to Cal and the stranger, suddenly aware of what he'd said. "I'm sorry...that's not what I mean."

Gillian suppressed a smile. "It's okay, Brandon. I know what you mean."

She turned to Cal. "Two doctors, huh?"

Cal returned her look with a grin of his own. "Got lucky, he did. Look at this...now what? We have three do we?" He gave Brandon a pat on the shoulder. "I'm afraid, we're going to need more sick people."

Brandon looked at him, perplexed. "Pardon me?"

"Don't mind him," Gillian told him. There was something about the young man's sincerity that brought out her maternal instincts. Not that it took much to trigger them. Cal always accused her of mothering not just him but Ria and Eli as well.

"Doctor Lightman?" The doctor held out his hand.

Cal was taken aback at being recognized.

"Karl Bennett," the doctor said, introducing himself. "I read your books," he explained. "And I've heard of the Lightman Group."

The doctor's posture was perfect, Gillian noticed. Straight like that of a military cadet. But more than that, everything about his appearance suggested discipline. From his neat, short-cropped haircut to the fact that he wore a perfectly pressed shirt, even though it was the middle of the night and the rest of them all looked half-awake.

"You have?"

"Tell me, do you have a medical degree now too, Dr. Lightman?"

Gillian wasn't sure she heard right. It was an unexpectedly accusatory question. In the span of seconds, he went from hinting that he was a fan of Lightman's work to pointing out that he was useless and unneeded here.

The doctor's powers of observation unsettled her.

Cal on the other hand, chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "I've had lots of free time lately."

Karl Bennett smiled. "That much?"

Sensing the chill in the air, Gillian stepped up towards them both and held out her hand.

Cal stepped in before she had a chance to introduce herself. "How rude of me. This is Dr. Foster. My... colleague." He turned to her. "Gillian, this is medical doctor Karl Bennett."

Gillian bit back a smirk and shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." His handshake was firm but he loosened his grip from hers almost instantly. Karl caught her reaction and managed a smile. "It's kind of you to come, in the middle of the night, but I think I can handle this." He was holding what looked like a traditional medical bag in his hands.

Gillian raised her brows. Did doctors really still carry those around? "What exactly is wrong with the sick passenger?"

"From what I've seen, I think we have a case of influenza on our hands. They're an elderly couple from Germany. If we can keep them confined to their cabin and away from the others it should lower the risk of spreading the virus. In the meantime, I'll give them something for the fever. That and keep an eye on them."

"He's saying they have the flu," Cal quipped.

"The husband came to me saying his wife had a sudden fever after their dinner." the VIA Rail attendant explained to Cal and Gillian. "Along with a severe headache and joint pains. So we were worried...especially because he's come down with the exact same symptoms."

"Isn't it unusual for it to spread so quickly?" Gillian asked.

"They likely had the virus before boarding the train," Dr. Bennett told her. He turned to Brandon. "I suggest you wipe down the dining car with a sanitizer of sorts if they had dinner there."

"There's nothing to worry about then, right?" Cal asked.

"I hope not." Dr. Bennett said. "Like I said, if we can keep them confined to their cabin we should be fine. Besides, their age makes them more susceptible than the bulk of the other passengers." He pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his medical bag. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to measure the Schroeder's fever before I leave them."

"Sure," Cal agreed. "Good idea. You'll keep us posted, right?"

Cal put an arm around Gillian's shoulders as they walked away, down the corridor. "Crisis averted. How 'bout breakfast in the lower decks with the working class?"

"I didn't know we were on the Titanic."

"Actually, this train is called The Canadian. Original, isn't it? I know because I read the glossy VIA brochure that was in the flap next to the barf bag."

"Didn't we just eat dinner?"

"Coffee then?"

He was hard to resist. She'd nearly forgotten just how hard.

Gillian felt a throbbing behind her temple. Definitely too much wine with dinner. Coffee, along with a tall glass of water were a good idea. They wobbled along the corridor as the train rumbled along a rough patch in the track. There was still nothing but darkness when they looked out the window.

She let Cal lead her to the compartment where his seat was.

"That one's all yours," he told her pointing to the window seat. "I snatched myself two seats. Bet that's almost as much space as you have."

"Almost," she agreed.

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee," he told her. "I'll go hunt some down."

"Thanks," she said, yawning, her eyes closing against her will. He was gone before she re-opened them and scanned the compartment. Less than half the seats were occupied. Most of the people in them were fast asleep. Couples lazily draped over each other. A guy with a guitar at his feet. A woman huddled up in her seat.

It was only on second glance that Gillian noticed the woman wasn't asleep. Her eyes were half open and she was shivering underneath one of the VIA Rail blankets.

Gillian spotted an unopened bag with a blanket inside under Cal's seat and grabbed it, walking over to where the woman was sitting.

"Do you want a second one?" she asked.

"Yeah...that'd be nice," the woman answered, her voice hoarse. She didn't look well, Gillian thought. Her skin was pale and she spotted a thin layer of perspiration along her hairline. She also noticed that her eyes were rimmed red, like those of someone who'd been crying for a period of time.

"Are you alright?" Gillian asked her. "Can I get you something to drink? Something warm?"

The woman offered her a weak smile. "No...it's okay. Just want to get home."

"Where's home?"

"Next stop. Sioux Lookout. My father's a doctor on an Indian reservation and my mother's a minister. They'll smother me in TLC when I get back..."

Gillian eyed her, not entirely reassured. "If you change your mind, my name's Gillian." She pointed to Cal's seat. "I'm just over there."

The woman held out her hand. It was hot to touch. "I'm Sarah. I'm alright really. I'm a nurse. I work with Medecins sans Frontieres. Just came back from the Congo. I'm tired and jet lagged. It was a rough time..."

"I can imagine."

"Thanks...for the extra blanket." She told her, giving her a meagre a smile. "I should have asked for one sooner."

"You're welcome."

Gillian went back to Cal's seat, suddenly noticing that he'd watched their exchange while holding two Styrofoam cups in his hands.

"There's the difference between the two of us. I care about the truth. You care about people."

It wasn't true, she thought. He cared too. Too much sometimes. Even if he often liked to pretend he didn't.

"Is that a scientific assessment?"

"Of course."

"The only difference?"

He paused and smiled. "You're also much easier on the eyes."

She took the coffee he handed her and sat down in the window seat. "Thanks."

"It's the truth."

She smiled. "I meant thanks for the coffee."

He fiddled with his lid and for a moment she thought he'd spill it all over himself.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," he said. Their words were half whispered so as not to wake those sleeping around them.

Gillian took a sip of the coffee. It wasn't sweet enough for her liking, but she drank some anyway. She'd hoped that maybe no answer was a hint for him to stop probing. But of course it wasn't.

"You didn't tell me why you never contacted me again after you came back from India," he pressed.

Only a few hours and already he was getting under her skin.

She bit her lip, a gesture she knew he'd analyze the second after she did it. She'd been away from him so long she'd almost forgotten how good he was at what he did. Gillian hoped he'd told the truth when he once confessed how hard it was for him to read her.

"I came back from India exhausted, and then I saw your e-mails and messages. It reminded me that there was a reason we left the Lightman Group barely on speaking terms."

"Oh come on, that was different, Gill. We'd just lost our brainchild. Neither of us handled it well."

"Look, I didn't have it in me to spar with you after India, okay? That's it."

He nodded and looked at her like he didn't believe a word. Gillian didn't care. As long as he stopped asking.

"I'm sorry. Really, I am."

"Stop apologizing. It's over," she chided him. "So are you going to tell me why you're traipsing around North America promoting a book you think is crap?"

He looked annoyed that she insisted on pursuing a topic he didn't care to discuss.

'Now you know how I feel,' she thought. 'Besides, if you want the truth from me, how about a little truth from you?'

"Money," he shot back. Surprisingly, he was giving her what she asked for.

"I want to raise enough to open another firm," he admitted. "It's why I'm going to conferences in Manitoba and doing freelance work for insecure millionaires who want me to interview their wives to see if they're cheating on them. You know, the kind of stuff I used to tell you we were too good for. It's also why I'm wearing this bloody monkey suit and sitting in economy class."

"I see." It was more honesty than she had expected and it made her feel guilty for her own lack of it. She figured she owed him at least something in return. "Truth is, I'm taking this trip because it was a gift from Sonia."

"The ex-mother in law?"

"She bought it for herself. Because this had been a dream trip for her. Go figure. But she wasn't up for a week long train ride and insisted on giving it to me. As a thank you. I didn't have any work this week so..."

"Here you are," he finished for her. "What do you do for work these days?"

"I do some freelance work. Not enough."

"What'd you think of Doctor Bennett?" he asked casually, switching topics and simultaneously letting her off the hook. Gillian was grateful for it.

"I'm not sure. My first thought was that there was something off about him. Something that doesn't quite fit."

"He reacted to your handshake as if you had the plague."

"Maybe he doesn't like help? Or women."

"He's married."

"You saw a ring? He could be married to a man."

"I saw his wife," Cal told her. "You don't remember last night? The couple that walked by our table. The woman spraying the perfume because she said the dining car smelled fishy?"

"That was him?"

"You're slacking."

"I didn't know I was on a case."

Cal smiled and for a moment Gillian thought he was testing her.

"It's okay. I know I'm a formidable distraction."

She sighed. "What did you think about him?"

"I think you're right. He didn't want our help. I saw irritation when he met me...irritation that increased two-fold when you came along."

"What I saw was annoyance. He was annoyed that we had the nerve to show up when clearly we were no use. Condescension rather than irritation."

Cal thought about it. "Maybe...but I also saw fear."

"Fear? You think he knows something we don't about the sick couple? That it's worse than he's letting on?"

"Not necessarily. I'm just not convinced they have the flu. Or that our doctor Bennett doesn't know exactly what they have."

"Oh come on..." Gillian wasn't ready to embrace a conspiracy theory just because the doctor they'd spent five minutes with wasn't thrilled about their presence. "Why would he lie about what's really making them ill? Besides, we're no threat to him."

"Sure we are," he disagreed. "We spot liars. That's plenty threatening when you're hiding something."

"Maybe he's just anti-social. He wouldn't be the first doc with a horrible bedside manner."

"I'm just telling you what I saw written all over his face, Gill." Cal insisted, his expression serious as he took a sip of his tea. "We made him uncomfortable. And it's not because he's an anti-social introvert. It's because he knows something and he's terrified we might find out what it is."